I took up a habit in January. Many of you won't think it is any different from my normal behavior, but I assure this is a whole new level. I walk on the cobble-stone streets singing at a completely audible level. If you think I am singing along to an ipod, you are wrong. This is one of the Italy Megan antics. I still sometimes forget the words conveniently when someone walks too close, but don't doubt my dedication nor my passion.
After the internet research on the "how to . . . " she shut the laptop. With resolution, she walked with a step that said it all: I am doing it.
I have been told that I don't give enough detail in my blog reports. I have no wish to deny this. I have chosen a solitary path and with that comes an amount of reservation, something I didn't have much of before. It changes you. I look at portraits of my character of now and I look at the ones of then and I find myself much altered. And when I look, I smile. However, you all deserve a little sweet life for being such dedicated lovers and readers. I couldn't ask for a better group to send me warm thoughts and the occasional bank deposit every now and then (you know who you are--if you don't know, you could consider learning -wink-).
With a few passing words to her roommates, she went into the bathroom. Unsure of being heard, she giggled as she thought about the advantage of taking them by surprise. The water ran over her with a pulsing voice that could only say one thing: Do it. Do it.
Every morning I wake up to the sound of shop doors opening. There is always some kind of horn honking, whether it is a Vespa, a bicycle, a Fiat, or a bicycle. I open my shutters and check out the weather. Outfit determined I get dressed, eat, and do my hair as fast as I can so I can get to class on time. There is one minute I can't wait to experience every single morning. I am so fortunate to live on the other side of the river from my school. If I didn't, I wouldn't get my 60 seconds of euphoria every day. Blog audience: Welcome to the bridge walks.
The methodical motion of her arm combing her hair only added to the manic look on her face. This is how it works with her. Deep consideration and vacillation. Repeat. Then a sudden resolution, followed by sudden action. There is no stopping her when she gets to this point.
The bridge walks don't even last that long. I don't expand them often. I don't take a different bridge on a different day. No. I prefer to walk across my bridge with my eyes on Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge) long enough to smile uncontrollably. The water below moves like it knows it is in Florence. There is no need rush through it. At this point I am halfway across when I stop for 2 seconds. Smile. Deep breath. I carry on, dodging the other admirers, painters, tourists, dogs, and cute old people. I step off the magic bricks and return to walking fast. My feet head toward the school but my mind remains on the bridge remembering the same words that come to me every day: I am so happy.
Snip. Snip. Snip. Maybe sawing at the really thick spots. There is no thought of failure. There is no Plan B.
I will skip the description of school. Summed up, I have met some really great people. It is fun. I love grammar, even though I don't understand it all. I am working hard so there truly isn't a lot of time to melt into this city, but it almost doesn't matter. I just feel so--here. I make my own meals here, I am on a great pasta diet. Light on the wallet. :) So I eat lunch. I study. This usually continues until evening. Then my beautiful Dutch roommate will sometimes ask what I am doing for dinner. Then we get our fantastic Brasilian roommate to come out and eat with us. We eat for 10 minutes and laugh, talk, narrate, and story tell for another 50 minutes. I am the only person in my program who isn't living with someone from the program. Which means I am the only American who is not living with another American. And I love it. One of the greatest things about traveling is to meet all of these other people who are here. The idea that you both chose the same place makes you look at them with wonder, anxious to understand.
After 30 minutes of snipping, sawing, guessing, combing, and brushing off the cut hair she declared herself finished. More likely, she realized that if she didn't stop there she would end up with chin length hair--something she was not in support of. She walked into the kitchen with a length of hair 5 inches fewer. After a second her lovely Daniela cried, "Seriously, you cut your hair!" (if you could only hear the latin flavor on that first word you would want to take her home she is so cute). Sanne agreed and couldn't believe it. Yes she had. She cut off 5 inches of dead, unhappy hair. A feeling of elation came. Beyond the physical benefits, she felt so empowered. She had a problem. The solution cost money. The grandiose emotions that take over when she solves a problem for herself heightens her faith in life--and she didn't pay a dime. This, good friends, is power.
I feel so able here. I am almost finished with my program and I will be moving on soon. I only have good memories. The past of dark shadows fades every day and I am reminded why I did it all in the first place.
This is the power of Firenze.
yes, that is the shadow of my chandelier in my bedroom.
Love always,
m.jean
P.S. I don't know if anyone cares to know the name that I lovingly gave this outfit:
Almost black and white. I know you are all wondering, it is my big black bow clipped onto a chain.
